


The Last of Us

by Et_Gemitus_Mortis



Series: Bound to Fall ⦗×┊┊❛ Strangers with Memories, that's all we are. ❜⦘ [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (Telltale Games), Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: M/M, My Little Gay and the Asexual Bear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 20:56:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5884900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Et_Gemitus_Mortis/pseuds/Et_Gemitus_Mortis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who else would know the pains of being the last of their lines better than him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last of Us

He had pestered him for nearly a year before he had capitulated. It was why he had found himself in these situations. Once or twice a month when Malcolm felt some carnal need to satisfy. There were no objections to it any longer. But a strange feeling sat in his chest, causing his throat to constrict; the feeling was abnormal to him. Something that Royland hadn't felt in ages. In a way, the warrior felt something for the Lady's Brother. He wasn't— _hadn't_ been able to feel it before. It often made him sullen and distant when thought of. It wasn't love, no, but some minor form of it. Small and unassuming.

Yet, it was dark and hidden. _Protective_. **Possessive**. As if a part of him had claimed the younger man. But never would he say love **(** _I love you_ , it hurt to think of those words **)**. He didn't care all too much for the activities. Being with a man— he didn't care about what people believed of it. Nor did he really mind the relief that came with sex. But this was foreign; sex was a topic that he didn't like to speak of. Yet, these times had been made for the both of them, an agreement, it provided him with something _human_ and it gave Malcolm some form of fulfillment.

"In all these years, I've wondered why you've never refused me on this." Royland's eyes snapped open, instinct spurring him on to have a quick response, but the sight he came to was merely Malcolm, his back pressed against his chest; his arm tightened around the other man in a possessive move but it was not yet light out. He could see that from the small window of his room. Malcolm had shifted just a bit, his upper body twisted slightly so he could look at him from, at least, one eye. Cognac orbs traced over his shadow-lined face before he let out a sigh, eyes closing again— lazily rubbing his fingers softly against the younger man's abdomen.

"Perhaps," His hand dipped beneath the man's trousers with skilled movements, brushing over sensitive flesh, causing Malcolm to tense slightly beneath his fingers before his hand returned up again. He'd never really considered much on why he kept doing this. Sex wasn't all too appealing to him, much less with a man, but it seemed that Malcolm had grown on him like some kind of fungus. Which was, to him, what he _exactly_ was like. They'd never had really hit it off when Malcolm had first come along and they had fought and bickered. Bruised and broke each other. But that had been a long time ago. "I simply enjoy it."

"You," His voice seemed to waver in disbelief before a soft noise, near the hum of deep laughter, came from him. Malcolm rested further back into him, twisting back around to keep his back flat to him. Royland's hand kept moving deftly; soothing, slow, and deliberate. His _partner_ relaxed back into him, a hum of contentment coming from him. There wasn't any reason not to wind him up a bit. He did enjoy it to deny him sometimes, finding Malcolm's insistent moues of release amusing. "A man I have known most of my life to want nothing to do with sex of any kind. And you turn out to enjoy it? I'm not sure if I believe you."

"You don't see me complaining, do you?" He moved forward and lifted himself up, lips pressing into the juncture between Malcolm's neck and shoulder, teeth scraping over exposed flesh briefly, nipping and sucking in a gentle manner before his tongue run over the purpling skin. Malcolm shifted again, stretching out slightly to offer better access. His voice became muffled against skin, enjoying the taste of him. "Or, perhaps, I fear what your sister will do."

"Fear my sister? Well," There was a pause. And Royland knew the other man was smiling at the thought. The Lady could be quite terrifying when she wanted to. Elissa was a right terror when her anger came up. He had narrowly missed being accosted by her on several occasions. She was often quiet and a calculating woman. Royland couldn't read her as easily as the rest of the house. People all had subtle signs and expressions that could tell him how they were going to act or what could come. But Elissa held tight, precise control over herself. Nobody could see anything coming from her until she let people see. Even her own brother found it hard to read her; and he had grown up with her. _Imbecile_. "I can't blame you for that. She can be terrifying when she wants to."

His ministrations came to an end. It was quiet chatter. Neither could sleep, but in the tension lines of the last Branfield, he could see that he was just as tired as Royland felt. His head buried against the crook of his neck, brown eyes closing with a quiet sigh. "Trivial nonsense." He grumbled against skin and he felt Malcolm shift back into him and his breathing began to steady into that of sleep. But he always seemed to get in one last word; his voice soft and husky, descending into that sleepy grumble he had grown accustomed to.

"We're the last of our lines."

 _Funny, how we find comfort in that_.

**Author's Note:**

> Scoop more Trash on me, this is where I belong. Join me in the Trashbin guys, it's fun.
> 
> Anyways, this is my guilty pleasure ship, and all I have to go on is that Malcolm respects Royland.


End file.
